Songbird
by Rona4Leroux
Summary: A 21st-century woman winds up in the past with no memory. How will Erik react when she winds up, inexplicably, at his doorstep? Leroux-based, pre-Christine.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: The idea for this story comes from some bizarre dreams I've had over the years. It will take me a while to get each chapter posted, but I tend to write long chapters.**_

_**It begins in the present day with an original female character who is about to take a journey that will completely change her life.**_

* * *

I've always enjoyed singing; that much was never in dispute. It was the idea of singing _for_ _other_ _people_ that stilled my voice.

My friends tried to convince me to perform for an audience, but they never did understand that it wasn't shyness or insecurity that stopped me. I took singing lessons when I was younger, before my parents had died. It was just that singing has always been something very dear to me, too personal, too intimate for me to share it with abandon or give it to just anybody.

* * *

They'd bugged me for years to sing for them, but I always demurred. It was pretty irritating that they couldn't or wouldn't respect my wishes. The final straw came the day Louise dragged me out to a karaoke bar and signed me up without telling me. When I heard the MC call my name, I glanced over at her in confusion.

She smirked at me and told me she was going to help me get over my stage fright, whether I wanted her help or not.

The thing is I've never had stage fright. I've been in plenty of plays (none that she ever bothered to attend, mind you), so I'm not at all uneasy in front of an audience. But, if she was so set on seeing me up on that stage, so she would. I headed up to the MC and informed him that he'd been told the wrong song, but I wanted to introduce myself first before he started the music. I turned to the microphone, cleared my throat, and spoke to the small crowd.

"So, I have this friend, Louise, who's apparently gotten it in her head that it's necessary for me to sing in public. I can't imagine why, when she's never heard me sing. Actually, I don't think she's ever heard me _speak_, because, if she had ever listened, she'd know that this" I gestured around the small stage area "is not where I belong. I'll clear the way for someone who does. Good night."

I walked off towards the exit without waiting for Louise. I didn't care that she had driven me there; I preferred risking the cold rain of the autumn night to the idea of spending another ten minutes sitting trapped in a car with her yapping about my lack of confidence and other such nonsense.

Little did I know that this would be the last time I'd see her.

* * *

As soon as I had arrived home, I stripped off my damp clothes and soaked in a hot bath. Once I'd pulled on my robe, I brewed a pot of Earl Grey and set about the tasks that Louise had so casually dismissed earlier. I couldn't afford to lose any time by getting sick just then.

I had booked a flight to Paris a month before the karaoke incident, and I was scheduled to leave two days after it. There's something about the City of Lights that's always captivated me and calls me to return from time to time. It's there that I feel a certain freedom I don't experience back home.

Or maybe Paris is home and I only visit England. I'm not sure anymore. All I know is what I feel while I'm there. It's as though my soul takes wing and begins to soar. I've never been able to figure out why that is, even now, looking back on those days. I suppose it could have been that people who haven't known me for years don't have expectations of what I'm _supposed_ to do or how I'm _supposed_ to behave. I wasn't bound by someone else's pre-conceived labels on me.

Once I boarded the plane, I thought back on the past few days. Louise hadn't bothered to call before I'd left, nor had any of our mutual friends. Hah, _friends_. Sure. They knew I'd be leaving for several months, and not so much as a word of farewell from any of them. I only hoped none of them would barge in and scare the dear woman who'd rented my cottage for the season.

Then again, these were people that, when I'd once said the way they kept pushing me to sing felt like they were trying to pimp me out, they'd all acted like I was the unreasonable one for resisting their efforts. They didn't realise that they might as well have been pushing me to go to bed with some guy I'd barely met.

How the hell did I wind up with such a strange circle of friends?

That doesn't really matter anymore, considering where I wound up.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Where was I? Oh, yes, the flight to Paris.

When the plane landed, it was late in the evening. I checked into my usual hotel, ordered a light supper from room service, and turned in for the night.

I hadn't realised how exhausted I was until I got into bed; the sheets felt wonderfully luxurious against my skin. When the sun rose the next morning, so did I. My hotel room had a balcony where I was able to linger with my cappuccino and brioche and ease into my day.

I took a stroll down a quaint little side street that feels like a trip back through time. Every time I come to Paris, the first thing I do is seek out a bookstore. Any shop with a fair assortment of classics and new releases suits me just fine. I normally like to keep to a general schedule that first day - breakfast, a walk until I find a bookstore I like, then a pleasant lunch and shopping for some necessities.

This time around, I found myself in a dimly lit, out of the way shop whose shelves were overflowing. I could easily have lost myself for a week in this place, but I kept my plans for the afternoon in the back of my mind. After about an hour of perusing the stacks, I noticed something unusual. _'That's odd; there are so few books on that shelf compared to the rest.'_

One book in particular - a heavy tome, really - caught my eye. I tentatively lifted the dusty old cover, green with age, and was astonished by what I saw.


	2. Chapter 2

_I hope you all had fun and relaxing holidays. Too much was going on the last couple of months for me to get this written until tonight, and, for that, I apologise. I did, however, read the reviews, and I'm flattered that you liked the beginning so much! With things settling down for now, I should be able to focus more on my writing. I hope you enjoy where this goes._

"Whose is that face staring back at me  
From there in the looking glass?  
You claim it is my reflection  
But upon introspection  
I realise that cannot possibly be  
My own face staring back at me."  
~ (c) Mason Wynter (excerpt from an as-yet untitled poem I'm working on)

_One book in particular - a heavy tome, really - caught my eye. I tentatively lifted the dusty old cover, green with age, and was astonished by what I saw._

When I returned to my hotel room late in the afternoon, I slowly unpacked my purchases before heading to the kitchenette. I needed some tea to calm my nerves, and I had completely forgotten to stop for lunch. Besides, I had to prepare myself to look at that fascinating old book again.

What had so astonished me earlier was the image on the title page. It was my own face staring up at me! You can imagine, of course, how disconcerting it can be to see yourself in a book that was published several decades before you were even born. Upon seeing it in the shop, I'd become dizzy, disoriented, and terribly confused by it.

How could it be possible?

It wasn't, naturally. Once I'd settled down and was able to think clearly, I looked more closely at it and realised that it had to be some bizarre coincidence. The woman in the portrait didn't really look all that much like me; it was mostly her eyes that resembled mine. Still, I felt a strange desire to possess that book, and so I'd bought it. It cost a bit more than I'd planned to spend that day, but, when I began perusing the pages, I was thoroughly pleased with what I found.

There were several pages of music and lyrics, many perfectly suited to my voice, as well as what could loosely be termed fairy tales scattered throughout. It was all quite fascinating, really, but a phone call interrupted my leisurely reading.

Fortunately, it was for a job. Someone who had seen a production I'd been in the previous year was staging an entirely new musical and he wanted to cast me in it. I'd never been in a musical before - at least not where I had a singing part - so I was flattered that he was considering me to be a part of it.

Truth be told, I was nervous about the audition; he _did _have to hear my voice, though. _'Deep breath,'_ I instructed myself. _'Project.'_

The audition went far more smoothly than I'd anticipated, and my co-star, Robert, had already been cast. He had a voice that was as rich and smooth as chocolate. He refused to let me see his face as his role required a nearly full face mask; he said it would help us both stay in character if he always wore it.

Something was missing, though. There was a scene where we would attend a masked ball, and Robert was supposed to whisk me away from an unwanted suitor. A song had been composed that didn't quite fit the mood we needed. Changing the melody didn't work, so it was decided that we would not rehearse that scene until it all the pieces were in place.

_Short, I know, but it's necessarily so. It shouldn't take me nearly as long to get the next chapter done. Happy new year!_


End file.
